


Automaton

by Alitheia



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Friendship/Love, M/M, Non-Chronological, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9628739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitheia/pseuds/Alitheia
Summary: (—but spies were not machines.)Kaminaga recounted the past and dreamed of the days to come; of a world in which Miyoshi hadn’t ceased to exist.





	1. under the morning light

**Author's Note:**

> Did a fanfic with this kind of writing style before, I thought it'd be fun to try it with KamiMiyo too (and in English ;w;). Portraying both Kaminaga and Miyoshi is so hard—I have so many ideas for them, which I'd probably never be able to write lol—but the nature and complexity of their relationships was the thing that made me love this pairing instantly. Hopefully, though, I won't mess up so much and this fanfic comes out in the way I imagine it in my head, hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (´・ω・`) 
> 
> Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Define automaton?”
> 
> “The Homer’s one? A statue out of metal, having the ability to move by themselves because they were given life by the gods or something.”
> 
> “Precisely,” Miyoshi sighed, “and that also sounds strangely familiar, isn’t it?”

One of the reminiscences that could never be washed away from Kaminaga's memories was of a spy named Miyoshi, as he sat beside the window at the agency’s small library on the fourth floor, with a book on his lap, basked under the morning sun. It was a modest scenery, neither a special occasion nor a point of culmination, but there was just something in its simplicity that made the moment lingered. Perhaps because it was their first chance to talk with only the two of them present, or maybe because it was the first time he realized how flawless the contour of Miyoshi’s face was—from his pretty eyes to his salient chin—carved by shadows and golden rays.

Kaminaga had pretty much picked up on everyone’s quirks since the beginning of their trainee days. It was a little harder with the number of people who started at first, but later as the days went by and they finally dwindled to eight men, with more chance to interact, the more each of their personalities became prominent. But it had never occurred to him, the Miyoshi who liked reading books—not that Kaminaga thought he didn’t fit the smart image—he just didn’t see that narcissistic would also need to hide himself away sometimes.

“Sorry,” he remembered it was he who first attempted for any sort of conversation, during the first few weeks of their training, “did I disturb you?”

“As long as you won’t start screaming or something of the like,” chestnut-colored eyes glanced, “then I’m not bothered.”

“I’m just going to open the window and smoke, if that’s alright with you?”

“Be my guest.”

Miyoshi titled his torso a bit to the side so he could easily open the windowpane, followed by a slight shake of the head and a thin smile when refusing the cigarette Kaminaga offered him. They eventually just sat there, falling into a sweet silence of early winter. Kaminaga leaned on his chair, eyes parking somewhere between the bookshelves behind Miyoshi’s back, as his ears searched for proof of lives, even if it was just a faint sound of breaths or tiny chirp of birds outside.

He wasn’t thinking about anything particular when without a warning, Miyoshi closed his hardback book with a dull thud, blowing off dust particles that looked akin to light snow. He left it on his thighs, while his gaze shifted outside; still as a statue, as if was contemplating, or trying to find inspiration in the windows of other buildings. Bending forward to tap the cigarette on the ashtray on the small table separating them, Kaminaga peeked at his book— _The Odyssey_ , carved in silver letters on a sky blue cover.

Positioning his back to be as comfortable as the wooden chair allowed him to, he puffed trails of smoke.

“I never thought you’re a fan of Homer.”

“I’m not,” their eyes met for a brief second, before Miyoshi returned his gaze to his book, tapping his fingers on the binding, “was just looking for something to keep me busy last night.”

“You could always come to cafeteria like usual, you know,” Kaminaga said, “we played cards until past midnight.”

The corners of his lips turned slightly upwards, and the only thing that crossed Kaminaga’s mind was how Miyoshi was always able to make his lips curved in a way that look so effortless and natural, “Sometimes you just need the time to be alone.”

“Well, if you say so, I guess I could understand.” He chuckled a bit. “So, did you find something interesting about Odysseus?”

“Not particularly, except maybe for the fact that he probably slept with pretty much every woman he met,” Miyoshi looked at him, still smiling, “somehow that sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Let’s just pretend you weren’t looking at me when you said that.”

“I’m still looking at you, though.”

Kaminaga laughed. “May I ask what are you trying to imply here?”

“Other than things that have been depicted in some ancient Greek epic poems actually still could be found in today’s society, no,” Miyoshi replied, “I’m not trying to imply anything.”

Only a couple of weeks ago, this man and all of his sickeningly sweet, disparaging innuendos had irked him to no end. But now when he’d realized that Miyoshi might simply be a cynic to the core, and that by throwing sarcastic remarks was his way of trying to keep the conversation going, he instead found himself grinning, genuinely amused at how bizarre his personality was. For the same reason he also didn’t reply. Kaminaga hated losing, but for this one time, he’d let Miyoshi feel satisfied. Consider it as him being genial. And he could be wrong, but Miyoshi did seem a bit younger than him, so consider it as Kaminaga being a courteous big brother as well.

So then he resorted to just enjoy his cigarette, while the smoke danced above his head before it dissipated in the morning wind. There were, after all, some moments that were meant to be savored, just like this one.

Kaminaga might not look like it, but he actually fancied reading. So far the only trainee he met most often in the library was Jitsui, though their relationship was just that of a polite conversation with occasional comments or recommendations about books that both of them had read. Miyoshi’s presence might be a good change of pace; listening to other people was indeed Kaminaga’s natural interest. Miyoshi would almost certainly be a great partner for conversations, though sometimes he made Kaminaga want to throw him the ashtray.

“Actually,” Miyoshi said, suddenly, “there was something that kind of caught my attention more than Odysseus and his adventures.”

“Oh?”

Miyoshi set the book in his hands, letting the papers turned swiftly under his fingers, as if trying to find a certain page. Kaminaga didn’t want to admit that he was already curious. But he didn’t stop until the back cover was reached, and the man returned it to his lap instead. “I just thought there was something quite amusing.”

“And that something is?” When his interlocutor only smiled, he quickly added, “Don’t make it as if you want to say it then leave me hanging.”

“Am I catching your interest, Kaminaga?”

“Perhaps.” He puffed his cigarette, looking as absent-minded as possible. Though Kaminaga was a good actor—that was part of his job as a spy, actually—he knew there was no use of pretending in front of people who were also always faking.

“Automaton.”

“Pardon?”

“You asked what’s amusing, my answer is, automaton; King Alcinous’ gold and silver dogs,” Miyoshi said, “that, if you’re familiar with some Greek myth or Homer’s works.”

And of course he did. Kaminaga had read The Odyssey—hell, he even read The Iliad before that—and his memory was excellent, so he knew exactly what was being talked about. “The dogs that guard his palace?” he asked. “What’s funny about them?”

Miyoshi placed the book on the table, almost making Kaminaga think that he wanted to show something, but the book cover was closed. “Define automaton?”

“The Homer’s one? A statue out of metal, having the ability to move by themselves because they were given life by the gods or something.”

“Precisely,” Miyoshi sighed, “and that also sounds strangely familiar, isn’t it?”

Kaminaga raised an eyebrow, this time not catching what Miyoshi meant. He hoped his expression was enough to make the other spy elaborate further, but the man only maintained the curve on his lips, as if it was the only thing that he was supposed to do in the world. He then rose from his seat, dusted invisible dust off his waistcoat, and took the suit jacket from the back of the chair. Without any word, he walked toward the door.

“Wait,” Kaminaga called him right when his hand was on the doorknob, “where are you going?”

“I meant to catch some sleep, if you don’t mind,” stopping briefly, he said, “I was up all night, you see.”

“Well yes, but I still don’t get what you mean.”

He stared at Kaminaga for a few long seconds, face unreadable. Miyoshi then shrugged. “Yet.”

The door closed. Kaminaga was left alone in the room, with old books and tales about automatons.


	2. like a machine, like an automaton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s as if our brains are set to receive the same radio wave_ , Miyoshi had once said, with one of those rare genuine smiles that sparked people’s adoration, and Kaminaga couldn’t agree more.

When Kaminaga first saw him, two possibilities were concluded; either he would utterly hate Miyoshi, or genuinely like him. It turned out to be the latter, but not without much squabble.

He wasn’t sure whether his first impression of Miyoshi was good or the opposite. The man wasn’t a sore to look at—at least Kaminaga could admit that much, and yes, he’s someone who’s attracted to anyone with a pretty face, no matter which gender they were. But if only Miyoshi’s smile would be less condescending like, say, Tazaki’s or Amari’s, Kaminaga might be able to actually like him without thinking that his personality was insufferable at first.

But still he couldn’t lie—not to himself, not to anyone—that Miyoshi wasn’t alluring. There was just something, unexplainably brilliant from those two eyes, drawing him closer, drawing him in. Miyoshi to him was perhaps like the ocean to Robinson Crusoe who’s crazy for adventure, prying in his thirst of finding things that even yet known to him.

Only later that Kaminaga found out the two of them were far more compatible than he thought they would be, how easy it was for them to reach an agreement, or how often they didn’t need words to exchange the ideas inside their heads. _It’s as if our brains are set to receive the same radio wave_ , Miyoshi had once said, with one of those rare genuine smiles that sparked people’s adoration, and Kaminaga couldn’t agree more.

Around the days when half of the trainings had finished and they were given small missions—particularly those in which the two set out together—it finally came to him of what Miyoshi meant by talking about the automatons. To Kaminaga’s credit, he actually didn’t think much of it until he got reminded once more, and this time, he also came to an answer (one that perhaps had been in his mind, yet always got denied). Hard outside and inside, as if having no hearts; alive and moving, but not feeling—since they had already thrown away all emotions, just like the past they had buried; brain working and well, but they only had one purpose, to prove themselves, to complete the mission. Like a machine, like an automaton; Miyoshi was talking about them, wasn’t he?

Then the man couldn’t be wrong, since out of them all, the one who was closest to being an automaton was Miyoshi himself. As impeccable as he was flawless, with a smile that was always plastered on his thin lips, not even since the first time they met Miyoshi ever showed any real emotions except when he wanted to.

Kaminaga knew, he _always_ _knew_ , that there was just something cold and inhuman in the other man, yet he couldn’t tell what exactly it was, or whether he liked that part of him too or not. Because perhaps, at that time, he too was an automaton.


	3. “don’t die.” (—but he did anyway)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room was dim, shadows consumed the corners in the way it was almost suffocating. Kaminaga leaned on the back of the chair Miyoshi was sitting on, peeking over his shoulders to the book laid open before them.
> 
> “Millais’ Ophelia, huh?”

_Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;_

_And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:_

The room was dim, shadows consumed the corners in the way it was almost suffocating. Kaminaga leaned on the back of the chair Miyoshi was sitting on, peeking over his shoulders to the book laid open before them. It was hardbound, unpretentious, and laden with Pre-Raphaelite paintings. He did wonder sometimes, why would such books end up sitting on the shelves of D Agency’s library—he thought they were supposed to be the Greater East Asia Cultural Society or something, and the books were ought to be more nationalistic—but _oh well_.

“Millais’ Ophelia, huh?”

Was it right before he departed for London, or was it long before that? Years after the event took place, Kaminaga could no longer recall when exactly had it happen. It was rather strange, how he had forgotten about the time but not the room, not the lights, not the sounds and the exact words that left Miyoshi’s lips. Perhaps because he replayed the scene so many times in his head; that it didn’t matter anymore when it actually occurred, that if the memory was a tape it would’ve had already been broken and he would’ve fixed it and try to play it, again and again and _again_.

“Is she still alive, or is she dead; which one do you think it is?” He remembered Miyoshi replied with a question. By that time he had already moved to the man’s side, and Kaminaga could see his eyes leering at him. Nothing came to his mind at first, but after a certain winter, he came to berate himself for not realizing that it was a bad premonition.

But no one was able to tell exactly what would happen in the future; not him, not even Yuuki, and especially not Miyoshi himself… _right_?

_Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;_

_As one incapable of her own distress,_

He had watched Hamlet over and over—in theaters, in films, in that school performance in which Amari’s adoptive daughter took part in—he had seen images of Ophelia dying as Queen Gertrude told the audience how she drowned, many more times than he wanted to. But arguably to him, Ophelia chose to kill herself, whereas Miyoshi never did. _None_ of them did; not to die is in their motto. The spy wouldn’t have gone to where he went or taken the train he took if he knew he would die right there, in a freak accident no one could ever hope to predict.

As much as Kaminaga hated to call it, Miyoshi’s death was the work of fate. It said so in the report he surreptitiously read; Miyoshi was a perfect machine, he made no mistake, what happened to the train he boarded on was pure coincidence, just like the debris that pierced through his chest and took his last breaths away.

_Or like a creature native and indued_

_Unto that element: but long it could not be_

If he could be honest to the question he didn’t answer, Kaminaga didn’t know whether the Ophelia in Millais’ painting had died or not. To tell the truth too, he couldn’t even say for sure if Miyoshi had really been dead; Kaminaga only ever saw his grave once or twice, but he’d never seen his corpse. No one could tell him that Miyoshi wouldn’t someday, just appear at his front door, with the smile he missed so much and the voice he longed to hear, greeting him softly as if he’d never been declared deceased in almost the past two decades.

But it’s a sad excuse. That Shakespeare guy even said it himself, didn’t he? That the miserable has no other medicine but hope, and yes indeed he was miserable, hoping and wishing and yearning for some empty fantasies. Kaminaga knew at least that much, and therefore whether it’s in this world or on the other side (if the afterlife really did exist), he never expected they would ever meet again.

_Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,_

_Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay_

Maki Katsuhiko was dead, but the Miyoshi he knew was still alive—with that condescending look and his sarcastic remarks, in an eternal room that was Kaminaga’s memories. Hence, until his hair turned grey and his hands wrinkled, Kaminaga would keep on playing it, like a tape, like a montage of an unfinished film, again and again and again—

_To muddy death._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The lines in italic are taken from Hamlet, Act IV, Scene VII.
> 
> Anyway, as the Joker Game fandom archive is getting less and less entry, my friends and I are holding a fanfiction event to encourage us all to write more. (´・ω・`) Everyone is welcome to join! Please go [here](http://alitheia-to-yonde.tumblr.com/post/157142172683/fallen-tine-joker-game-fanfiction-event) for the info and contact me in [twitter](https://twitter.com/allitheia) for more inquiries. We'd be very happy if you could participate. Happy Valentine's Day! <3


	4. an afternoon, a day off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone like him couldn’t be an automaton, Kaminaga wanted to believe.

If it weren’t for the demons inside his stomach demanding food, Kaminaga would probably still be sleeping soundly in his bed. Or lying in his bed, to be precise. Because he’d always been a light sleeper who, exacerbated by the training at D Agency, would be woken up by the slightest of sounds; the bed creaking, the door closing, or even sometimes the rumbling automobile engine on the street below his window. Each of the spies Kaminaga was sleeping in the same room with now was quiet enough not to wake him up when they exited, but at times someone would just deliberately make noises to wake the others up. Miyoshi did so. Or he did because it was past noon already and now Kaminaga was hungry.

He stretched slowly before bringing himself to a sitting position, eyes adjusting and focusing in almost no time, finding out, without surprise, that he was the only one left in the room. It was their day off, and Kaminaga felt like not wanting to move. He had moved his body all night after all, splurging through the dancing hall, moving from one bar to another, drinking a little bit too much than he usually would. But Miyoshi had smiled at him in the way he never before, and under the man’s gaze Kaminaga found the vigor to let himself lost a little bit in the spree.

Kaminaga wasn’t drunk, though—a little tipsy, perhaps—but he was aware and remembered everything that happened, particularly the part when Miyoshi pulled him out to catch some fresh air, before dragging him to another bar, with just the two of them. They talked a lot; about the classy restaurant that had just opened downtown, about the book Kaminaga recently finished, about the news Miyoshi read in the morning newspaper—but never about themselves. Maybe he was being overconfident, thinking that if he could get the man drank enough, there would be a chance for Miyoshi to slip out something about his past, something about himself, something that could give Kaminaga a clue about his true colors. _Anything_.

It was yet another game for all the spies, trying to collect fragments of each other’s past, learning about the others in the most unconventional ways. At that time they were still neither friends nor comrades; they were just a group of people happened to be working under the same person for the same purposes. Even months after living and meandering the town together, Kaminaga still couldn’t trust them, no, not fully. (He did respect them, but there’s a distinction between acknowledging and _trusting_.) And the easiest way to feel safe among uncertainties is by knowing something about the other party, whether it’s something they like and dislike—or even better, their past. If any of them were to double-cross him, information would serve like insurance.

But Miyoshi was impenetrable, and he held his liquor well. That’s a shame, since it was no longer just a game or pride; Kaminaga was genuinely curious. At some point he gave up tacitly coaxing the other man to spill about himself, and somehow it had turned into a quite blatant flirting. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he couldn’t help himself, not when Miyoshi was crossing his legs, leaning in closer, bumping their knees together—staring and smiling, knowingly. At some point too Kaminaga managed to somehow call it a night, no matter how tempting it was to keep ordering drinks or enjoying the way Miyoshi’s eyes gleaming under the bar’s lights, he knew his limit and it was the time to stop. Kaminaga might present himself as carefree, but he could never be a spy if that was the truth.

Letting out the remembrance of last night with a big yawn, he headed for the toilet. Miyoshi was already there when he came in, not batting an eye even though the mirror he’s facing was placed on the opposite of the door.

“Morning,” Kaminaga greeted, half-heartedly.

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, sir.” He said in English.

The other spy glanced at him through the refection, before returning his eyes back to himself. “Afternoon.”

The water was freezing cold when he opened the tap, and it’s not the most pleasant feeling having to wash his face with it, but as long as Yuuki was civilized enough to keep the heating in their bedroom working, Kaminaga wouldn’t complain. Washing off the remains of sleep, he turned his attention to Miyoshi.

“What’s wrong,” he asked, “seeing something in the mirror?”

“I just don’t like how my bangs look.” His long fingers combed through reddish brown strands.

Kaminaga stared at the man’s reflection and his hair; there was nothing wrong with it, he looked flawless, as usual. “Wouldn’t it be better to just cut it then?”

A low sigh escaped from Miyoshi’s mouth, turning his face to Kaminaga, he said, “You don’t get it, do you?”

He wanted to argue, Miyoshi _did_ look fine. He always did. If it weren’t for his pride Kaminaga would’ve already blabbered about how hard it was trying to tear his eyes off him all night when the man looked so, incredibly, stunning, dancing to jazz and swing with all those foreign women. Perfect, in every way it’s humanly possible, Miyoshi was _perfect_.

Instead, Kaminaga only raised an eyebrow, but the man before him chose not to elaborate. Slowly, the corners of Miyoshi’s lips turned upwards, it was one of those rare genuine smiles, Kaminaga could tell the difference by now, because it came out only when the two of them were present. It’s merely a slight curve of the lips, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, but not condescending; it was Miyoshi’s way of showing fondness, and Kaminaga wouldn’t mind getting drunk any time, as long as he could see it again.

For him, this man who used the name Miyoshi was an enigma himself; how could someone who possessed a smile as lovely as his at one time, could be so cold in another? Someone like him couldn’t be an automaton, Kaminaga wanted to believe, there must be something terribly wrong in the way the world works, because there was no chance a man who always fuss about petty things like his hair, capable of turning into an unfeeling and heartless machine.

The spy checked his reflection in the mirror once more, fixing his front hair one last time. Miyoshi caring so much about his looks was endearing. It’s like a reminder for Kaminaga that everyone had _at least_ that one flaw (because humans are not perfect and perhaps Miyoshi wasn’t an automaton after all), no matter how faultless he thought they were. It made Kaminaga doesn’t hold back his grin. “They say it gets thinner faster if you freak out about your hair so much.”

Miyoshi produced something that sounded too elegant for a snort before replying, “I suppose Fukumoto would be courteous enough to save each of us a portion of lunch,” he then suddenly, turned and ran a hand through Kaminaga’s hair, and if he wasn’t a trained man, he would’ve jolted in surprise, “don’t come to the cafeteria still looking like a hedgehog, I’ll lose my appetite.”

Washing his face one more, thoroughly this time, Kaminaga followed him outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like the dialogue about Ophelia in the last chapter taken from an episode preview, the dialogue about Miyoshi's hair here was also taken from an official material. I think I saw the Japanese somewhere but [here](http://jgfiles.tumblr.com/post/156775851572/cleaned-and-translated-version-of-the-cards-for) is the translation. :D


	5. it was raining outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Automatons too, worked the way they did because it’s just how they were, weren’t they?)

Almost without a warning, the grey clouds finally released its load and Kaminaga found droplets of water trickled down the window glass. The café they were sitting in was one of those that opened near the main street, and Kaminaga could see people scurrying underneath their umbrellas when shifting his gaze outside.

“It’s raining again….” He mulled, words dwindling off his lips. It’s the kind of sentence that didn’t need to be completed.

“What do you expect,” replied Miyoshi noncommittally, “it’s June.”

“Summer really is something, isn’t it?”

“It is,” the man ran a hand through his own hair, looking rather annoyed as he puffed on his cigarette. Miyoshi hated summer for its humidity, rendering his hair difficult to be set the way he wanted it to. He hated the incessant rain too, since he said it’d ruin their suits, soak their shoes, and all sorts of complaints that who knows when would stop if it weren’t for Kaminaga cutting off with, “Aren’t you just like a cat, hating the rain and all that stuff?” which successfully rewarded him a glare. He liked how when it was only between the two of them, Miyoshi would let his feelings shown from time to time—irritated, pleased, amused, and even sometimes worried—it’s like an anchor to Kaminaga’s own emotions; an assurance, that they were neither monsters nor machines; a proof, that they were all still humans inside.

Initially, Amari had taken a streetcar with them to Kagurazaka, but about half an hour after sitting and finishing his cup of coffee, the man said he needed to pick up something in Hongo and went ahead. If Hatano had also been there, he and Kaminaga would’ve probably teased and pried into what the spy was about to do, but as Miyoshi was his companion, he found himself uninterested in trying to annoy the others. Once, it did cross his mind if Amari realized something between Miyoshi and him that he chose to give them privacy, but he was nonetheless glad that they were left. Inside the building where they lived, he found almost no time for them to be alone, the time when he could see hints of what might be the real Miyoshi and not just his spy persona; Kaminaga knew he was only fulfilling his selfishness now, and he was indeed quite a greedy man.

While Kaminaga did enjoy the time they spent with the others too, drinking all night and playing the Joker Game until the sun rose, there was just a different feeling when it was only him and Miyoshi; their movements more refined, the conversations went deeper, and words turned subtle yet also a little bit more honest. He didn’t realize when it started, but somehow they’ve come to share something akin to an unsaid mutual understanding. It was only with Miyoshi that he could also present some sides of himself that was neither Kaminaga the spy nor the man he used to be, little by little at a time, without fear or doubt, and saw that he was being reciprocated in the same manner. Being with Miyoshi was the closest Kaminaga ever felt relaxed; still alert, but not agitated.

They needed each other, in a way none of them would ever convey in words.

He ordered a second cup of coffee and Miyoshi glanced at him a little disapprovingly over his newspaper, yet refrained from providing any comments. Listening to the sound of rain and the flipped pages of the other man’s reading, Kaminaga waited for his drink to arrive before asking, “What do they say this time?”

“Still nonsense.” The spy folded the newspaper and tossed it beside the ashtray.

They had never trusted any news without questioning its authenticity or the possibility of biases, and all the more so ever since the National Mobilization Law was enacted. Being a spy, though, meant there’s no worry over it as they would be exempted from being drafted as civilian workers in war industries. If Kaminaga was ignorant enough, he might even consider the members of D-Agency as lucky, for they were still able to afford small luxuries during wartime—but he wasn’t, and he knew that this was only false tranquility. He was aware that all these seemingly peaceful days they were living in Greater East Asia Cultural Society were ephemeral, and in just a blink of an eye it would be all gone. The cafeteria laden with cigarette smoke and cards, the resplendent nights spent by drinking and playing around, the quiet mornings when he could find Miyoshi reading a book on his own; these were just life’s blessings that Kaminaga could enjoy for a while, but he would never own.

“How do you think this would end?”

“The war?” Miyoshi asked, he’s been reading more newspapers than novels lately, sometimes with a mocking smile, and some others with a solemn expression. “Well, seeing how things are going,” he paused, turning his eyes to the window in a pensive stare for a few seconds before continuing, “it’ll be a full-scale battle in no time—and not just with China, if that’s what you’re asking.”

They could say the empire expansions were being carried out with noble purposes for all he cares, but Kaminaga, just like the other D-Agency spies, wasn’t pleased with where Japan was going currently. It was almost ensuring their own downfall, and it was one of the reasons why he volunteered to become a spy in the first place. Kaminaga knew that this was something he had to do himself, and he’d be damned if all were to be left to those idiots in the military. Yet deep inside, buried under his layers of consciousness like information that he’d been trained to not give out to the enemies, were small doubts about whether the decision to become what he was now had been the right thing.

“War doesn’t make any sense, does it?” Kaminaga blurted out without thinking. It was a simple-minded view, like that of a child, and he immediately regretted saying it.

But just when he had expected Miyoshi to laugh mockingly and look at Kaminaga like he was the biggest fool on earth, the other man only let out a small chortle instead. “War never makes any sense, indeed.”

Kaminaga watched as Miyoshi sipped the last drop of his own drink, then marveled at the way his fingers danced to tap the corners of his lips with a napkin, elegantly, with not a single waste of motion, as if he’d been disciplined to be an aristocrat since birth. And maybe it was actually the case, and Miyoshi left all his privileges just to become one of these ghosts, collecting and manipulating intelligence for a country that didn’t even acknowledge that he existed; imagining this kind of possibilities and scenarios was how Kaminaga sometimes spent his free time.

“Being a spy doesn’t make any sense too,” Kaminaga said, the spoon in his hand made a pleasant clink as he added sugar to his cup. His voice was loud enough for Miyoshi to hear, but not for anyone who might be listening.

They glanced discreetly to vicinity, but the tables around them were empty. Only then Miyoshi focused on him, eyebrows lifted to show interest. “How so?”

“I mean,” he took a sip, deciding that the amount of sweetness fitted his mood (in a world in which everything was bitter, sometimes he needed a small escape too), “why would you throw a good life just to be, basically, nobody? Risking your head, doing dangerous jobs, living a life of absolute, dark solitude—don’t look at me like that, I’m only quoting Yuuki-san, never heard him saying that? I bet he will repeat that in front of all of you too next time he gets the chance—and that being said, there’ll be no evidence that you ever existed in the end. Why would anybody want to live like this?” Kaminaga said, purposefully made himself sound irritated, but didn’t hide the smile that was slowly finding its way to his lips.

Miyoshi’s eyes were serious, but a smile was also tugging on his lips. “Who knows? Perhaps this so-called way of life could be quite addicting.”

“Maybe it does. But have you ever wondered?”

“About what?”

“The meaning,” Kaminaga said, “of all of _this_.”

There was silence slipping in between them, as the words slowly permeated both of their minds. Kaminaga was asking something that he too didn’t think much of. Why did he become a spy? Walking under an alias, cutting off family and old friends, creeping in the ambiguity of not fully being a civilian and yet not also belong in the army; what’s the meaning of the life he was living now? If he were to be asked for reasons then he could give a dozen that would sound satisfying, but would it really be an answer for himself? If he had the time to get away and think hard enough, perhaps he could come to an answer. But right now the one thing that he’s sure of was, things had been the way they were because it’s _just_ how it is. He was a spy because that’s just who he was, he breathed lies and feigned because that’s _just_ how a spy lived.

(Automatons too, worked the way they did because it’s just how they were, weren’t they?)

The bell above the front door tinkled as it opened and Amari walked in, with a paper-wrapped package in his hand. He took off his hat, a little damp from the remains of the drizzle outside. His eyes met Kaminaga’s, but after nodding as a greeting, he made a beeline for the washroom. The third spy’s arrival was like an alarm clock, waking both of them up from a dream-like state; Kaminaga asked before any of them could recover completely, “Why did you take up the offer to be a spy, Miyoshi?” His tone was calm, with no hint of urgency. They were prohibited to talk about it, Kaminaga was aware, but he wasn’t pressing, he only wanted to know.

For a few seconds, Miyoshi’s face was unreadable. The nice curve formed on his lips just a moment ago was now gone, and his eyes were stern as they fixed on Kaminaga. The sounds surrounding them didn’t vanish thoroughly, but it was as if anything that his ears caught got drowned in water. For a few seconds too, he felt the world froze, drips on the window glass weren’t pulled by gravity and the fan on the ceiling stopped spinning. It was the kind of silence that filled his chest with oppressive nausea, as if he was a balloon pumped with too much air, and his body would blow up anytime.

—But Kaminaga needed to know, he _must_ know, just what in the world that had made this man who’s sitting across the table, chose the path that he also voluntarily took. For, only by that way, he might also find the meaning of his own choices.

And then Miyoshi blinked, in a way it was so slow that Kaminaga could see his eyelashes fluttering beautifully as he leaned in, just a little bit closer to say something that was no louder than a whisper.

“Who knows,” he smiled, “perhaps because it’s just the way it is.”

* * *

Kaminaga let Miyoshi finished the rest of his coffee, to which he finally commented, “Too sweet.”

By the time Amari returned to the table, they’ve already resumed talking about the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we just don’t need reasons for everything, do we? I wonder if it’s really just the way it is. (´・ω・`)


	6. puppets in the crowds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of autumn foliage and cheers of children, Kaminaga imagined themselves as mechanical puppets on a stage they called the world.

Sometimes Kaminaga thought it was funny, how they never knew each other’s real names, but went along with it anyway. It never bothered him that people who are the closest to what he could call friends, might initially had been men of totally different personalities to what they chose to exhibit now. He took in all of their fake identities naturally, like it was just how the world works and accepted deliberately. Perhaps because the man called Kaminaga too wasn’t supposed to exist in the first place (yet he could no longer picture himself being anyone but Kaminaga).

Before he knew it, the summer heat had dissipated and chilly autumn wind began to knock on their windows. It brought a rather pleasant nuance to the agency; Hatano wasn’t as short-fused, Miyoshi stopped complaining about his hair, and even Yuuki seemed to be in good humor (well of course he was, being able to cut off some expenses through the unused electric fans, that old scrooge)—though he wasn’t any less torturous in his training programs.

The days went fast, but it was as if nothing changed. Their trainings continued as usual, and by now he could see clearly who excelled at what. Tazaki was unbeatable in misdirection—or pickpocketing, it’s astounding just how fast his hands were; Jitsui was the best at making poisons as well as interrogating, and yet that little devil didn’t get affected too much by the truth serum; Fukumoto was a first class actor, and after learning how horrifyingly convincing his disguises were, Kaminaga wondered if the quiet cook that he’s now was ever the actual trait of the tall man.

Be that as it might, he still hadn’t gotten any further hint of the real Miyoshi. Kaminaga tried not to let the fellow spy preoccupy his mind too much, but it couldn’t be helped when they were seeing each other’s face every day, sleeping on the bed next to the other, and constantly got paired in seduction classes. Then adding to Kaminaga’s annoyance, he couldn’t really decide what Miyoshi’s strongest point was; from cryptography to safe-cracking, language studies or social dancing, he seemed to excel in everything. If he must choose one thing that he thought Miyoshi was best at, then it’s probably stealing Kaminaga’s very own heart (that was a joke, of course, but Kaminaga couldn’t think of anything else to diminish his own curiosity).

After one time Jitsui pointed out that they lately had been going out drinking so much at night, he decided to tag along with Tazaki to Hanayashiki. It was not their usual kind of amusement, but immersing himself in something that was not alcohol or playing around in bars might be a nice change of pace. At some point Miyoshi heard that they were going out, so he invited himself to join. Fukumoto and Odagiri, who had just returned from an errand and met them in the entryway of the cafeteria, wanted to go too. Then somehow, Amari, Hatano and Jitsui also joined in so they ended up going out with all members.

The weather was mild that afternoon, hence they forwent a few streetcar rides and started by foot. The rain had just ceased, leaving small puddles on the side of the pavement; the water reflected sunlight like broken mirrors. Fallen ginkgo leaves were ubiquitous, torn and crumbled under the passing shoes, while some traversed the air as they passed by. One of them landed on Miyoshi’s hair, and Kaminaga tried quite hard not to pick it up himself.

Near Manseibashi Station, they ran into Yuuki who was walking from the opposite direction. The eight of them acted like they didn’t know their superior, and the Lieutenant Colonel didn’t even bother to spare them so much as a glance. Kaminaga didn’t miss the cheeky smile widening on Hatano’s lips after.

“I thought Tazaki-san loves animals,” Jitsui began, as they waited for the streetcar.

“I do.” Tazaki said.

“Isn’t that why he wanted to go to Hanayashiki in the first place?” Amari asked. “To see the animals.”

“ _Caged_ and circus animals,” Jitsui reiterated, “isn’t that kind of cruel?”

“Cruel?” Kaminaga chuckled. “I don’t want to hear that from you.”

The other spies followed suit in giving out a small laugh, but nobody wanted to mention their session with Jitsui during the last interrogation exercise with the truth serum. The addressed black-haired spy only smiled, in the way that it meant trouble or he was also amused—Kaminaga wasn’t sure which. Hatano then threw in, “Won’t this be the day Tazaki pick every lock in the cages and set the animals loose?”

“If it’s Tazaki, wouldn’t he just make them disappear, with magic tricks or something.”

“But I don’t think he could hide something as big as a lion under his sleeves—that’s not literally possible, I mean.”

“He could still hide pigeons, though.”

“Gentlemen,” Tazaki said, cutting off before anyone could add anything, “I am not doing anything illegal today.”

“That means you’ll really do it on another day, right?”

“Oh, well.”

“You see that smile? He always makes that gentle expression, but you’re actually one of the nastiest out of us all, aren’t you, Tazaki?”

Listening to the idle chatter in the group, Kaminaga had to admit that he was rather entertained. Regardless of the spy’s real intentions, he would still say Tazaki was one of the kindest people he’d ever known. He was polite, refined, and always having a tender smile that was also confident, but not arrogant. Sometimes he and Amari would drag him along to dance halls or tea houses, and competing on who would succeed in taking a lady home first or frolicking all night with geisha women. He almost never heard Tazaki complained, except for that one time when a stray cat got into the agency building and scared off his pigeons.

Still, despite his growing fondness for the spy, it bemused Kaminaga when witnessing how capable Tazaki was in using other people to get what he wanted; he didn’t say it, but ingeniously created a situation in which others would unconsciously compel to his wishes. He had no guilt, and often would only exchange meaningful glances with Kaminaga, without ceasing to show that trademark smile of his.

That was about as much as Kaminaga could get from mere observation, and he knew the others also possessed the same sort of disparate sides, with traits that were unfit to the persona they’re now using. Would it make them more human as it was man’s nature to be a hypocrite, or would it make them more of a machine as they fabricate emotions and deprive themselves from the real ones? Kaminaga might as well never find the answer, but not once he had thought their lives were any less worth living, not when he finally felt _belong_.

Hanayashiki attracted many people, especially families with children. It was a small ground, but in every season the mass came over to admire the beauty of flowers, while sitting over a cup of tea between artificial waterfalls and fish ponds. At one entrance were lifelike dolls dressed in chrysanthemums, depicting scenes from famous plays; it reminded Kaminaga again that it was already autumn, and it had almost been a year since he entered D-Agency. Fukumoto and Odagiri went straight to the tea shops, and one by one each of them detached themselves from the group, blending in with the crowd. It was made to be cheerful park, yet Kaminaga could feel the atmosphere was somehow a little subdued. The children seemed unaffected, but perhaps in the minds of those parents accompanying them were also the thought of their oldest sons, currently battling in foreign lands, dying almost vainly for the empire.

Left with only three people—himself, Tazaki and Miyoshi—they walked along flower beds, absentmindedly pointing out the Latin names and meanings in flower languages of each one they saw, trying to see who remembered the most from their botanical classes. At one corner it was filled with red spider lilies, just in time for their bloom, bright like blood over the green of their stalks. The flowers made him think of Miyoshi, elegant and poisonous, stood as if their heads were held high.

Tazaki stopped at the bird stage just beyond the zoo area, as it was expected. The remaining two proceeded to the puppet theater next to it; they came in the middle of a show, of a fairytale with a title that Kaminaga couldn’t remember. Some of the dolls, moved by contrivances, acquired gasps and screams as they appeared slowly from a basket. Crowded with children, they watched from the back. Miyoshi’s stare was fixed on the puppets the entire time, but to Kaminaga he looked utterly unimpressed. Among the children laughs he’d been hearing all day, Kaminaga realized he had forgotten how to laugh like them, genuinely, at something so simple. He wondered where and when did his innocence go, or if there was a time on these days when his mind wasn’t laden with questions.

The audience then clapped, the show was over; Miyoshi said he wanted to look for a drink, and reality snapped him back from his musings.

“How about tea?” he asked. The other spy nodded, and they head to the direction Fukumoto and Odagiri were going earlier. When it was only between them, he’d also been aware, that the easygoing and chatterbox Kaminaga wasn’t necessary. He and Miyoshi had long surpassed the point where there’s a need to exchange a bantering in every three minutes, while a kind of comfortable silence had developed between them. Sometimes it would only be the two of them together, busy with their own thoughts, and things had never been any more perfect.

Taking once last glance to the puppet theater, it suddenly struck him. His mind replayed the talk in the café at Kagurazaka last summer, and discerned it wasn’t even a question that actually needed an answer. Kaminaga had come up with a conclusion that he couldn’t provide a logical explanation to, but was sure of it regardless.

Miyoshi didn’t just take up the offer; like Kaminaga, he too _volunteered_ to be a spy.

* * *

In the midst of autumn foliage and cheers of children, Kaminaga imagined themselves as mechanical puppets on a stage they called the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **Hanayashiki**. First opened as a flower park in 1853, then combined with a zoo, and survived as an amusement park to the present days. I think I first knew the place from a novel or something, but had forgotten about it until I accidentally [found it again](http://oldphotosjapan.com/photos/53/hanayashiki-asukusa-park#.WLEylvLg234) when was looking at Japan old photos.
> 
> The ideas of the spies going out together to a place like this was absurd to me at first, but I love this [end card](http://sekinosemimaru.tumblr.com/post/146389965653/yoshimi-itazus-commentary-on-the-creation-of-end) and without realizing, I had already included both the park and the end card scene into the story X'D I just wanted to explore other sides of them, and somehow it had turned into something like "the spies went to the park like any other normal people" lol. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!


	7. in the mood for love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew he was falling deeper and it had to _stop_. But how could he? When he finally found something—someone, who put meanings into the things he’d been doing and emotions in the smiles he’d been giving.
> 
> For the briefest moment, Kaminaga knew that he wasn’t merely an automaton, and a thing that people called heart was still functioning somewhere inside him, beating to the tune that only the two of them was able to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been busy with part time job and couldn't update as fast as I did before, but I hope you find this chapter enjoyable ;w; The chapter title, and perhaps the overall feel of it as well, was taken from a movie called  _ **In the Mood for Love**_ and it's soundtrack, [_Yumeji's Theme_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gw9fKuymA0I)—and while it actually has nothing to do with this fic, yes, I'd recommend the film lol.

There was a bookstore a few blocks from Greater East Asia Cultural Society building that Kaminaga used to frequent—when he was yet to be a spy, when he still stacked his shelves with books of different languages and countries. Now he would only keep one or two at a time before selling them again; the kinds of books they read could give away what sort of people they actually were, and Kaminaga would avoid that at all cost. He no longer struck up conversations with the shopkeepers, and never visited the same store more than twice.

The same goes for bars and restaurants, or any other establishments that might recognize their face. After all, spies were like ghosts, and people were not supposed to see them. In the usual night outings the eight of them would try new places and enter other halls, took different routes and even went back in smaller groups. Habits and patterns were bad; making sure not to be noticed or followed had become a must.

On one night in midwinter, Miyoshi announced that he was bored and prompted them to go somewhere. Neither Hatano nor Jitsui were seen in the cafeteria, and Odagiri said he’d stay behind for a reason that Kaminaga could no longer remember. The rest of them hopped into the streetcar without any destination in mind, but it was Fukumoto who then suggested going to Teitoza. To be honest, dancing wasn’t what Kaminaga fancied the most before, but he had taken more liking to it ever since he saw Miyoshi in their social dancing class. Miyoshi was so good that he became an exemplar, arguably the instructor’s favorite student, and perhaps what Kaminaga would call his casual private mentor.

Now when Kaminaga saw him on the dance floor, wearing his signature brown waistcoat and dancing with a lady in green, skillfully tapping his feet and leading their steps, he found that his eyes were glued. His mind replayed their small sessions of dance practices, when Miyoshi’s rather slim waist would feel just right in his hold and nothing fit more than the way their hands interlocked. Kaminaga had always been a fast learner, and in no time he’d be able to follow the pace Miyoshi was setting, but sometimes he would go as far as purposefully taking wrong steps and though Miyoshi was aware, the man would humor him and ask to redo the whole dance from the start, extending the time they had to spend together.

The thought of not having Miyoshi while the man was in front of him rendered his own dancing almost insufferable, and the spy was glad when the song was over. He bowed slightly to the woman who had been his partner, flashing her what he considered as one of his most attractive smiles (the kind that turned anyone flushed and clumsy, yet never succeeded in making Miyoshi falter). Kaminaga then slowly moved closer to the corner, grabbing the closest drink he found, and gulped half of it down in one go. Although it was light, the familiar burning sensation still welled up from the base of his throat, and instantly it filled his nose with something dry and pungent. His eyes searched the dance floor afterwards, one by one eyeing each of the spies, failing to find Miyoshi.

It was only when the music had turned slow and romantic that he finally saw Miyoshi, coming to him from the direction of the lavatory. He noticed the glass Kaminaga was holding, then took the same one as he walked closer.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing to this?” Miyoshi said with a smile, lifting his glass a bit, as if he was referring to the air.

“Why would I?” Kaminaga tilted his head a bit, returning the smile, interested in what the other spy had to say.

“Well, isn’t this your kind of music.” It was not a question. “The star of the dance floor shall not run away.”

“Aren’t you talking about yourself?” He gave out a little laugh, deciding not to comment on Miyoshi’s claim about his taste of music being romantic and mellow. Miyoshi wasn’t entirely wrong though, since Kaminaga often opted for slower music in their dance practices—though it wasn’t necessarily because he preferred those kinds of song. It was for himself and his greed; after all, when else could he savor the moment of just the two of them being together?

“To music like this,” he took a sip before continuing, “I actually prefer dancing in a more… private surroundings.”

“Then perhaps I should’ve asked you to teach me more often,” Kaminaga replied, playfully.

Miyoshi said nothing in response, but he was smiling. Taking another sip of his drink, he then commented, “This one’s actually decent.”

Silently by each other’s side, they watched the dance hall attentively. The swirl of western dresses and flutters of kimono sleeves filled the space between suits and ties, spinning around the room like flowers on a water surface. Japan itself was indeed changing, yet everything still seemed static for members of the agency. Even if Kaminaga tried not to think about it too much, his mind would work automatically, calculating possibilities and counting the time they could spend gaily like this. _Not much left._

“He’s good, isn’t he,” Miyoshi suddenly said, eyes kept looking at the couples dancing, “Amari.”

Kaminaga followed his gaze and found the brown-haired man, still dancing with the lady clad in a yellow western dress, his partner from the previous song. The spy had always struck him as free-minded as well as caring, and even though Kaminaga couldn’t say he knew everything, he could tell that among them, Amari belonged to those who were more genuine. Kaminaga wouldn’t know what went on inside that man’s head, but he always looked like he’s enjoying every second of life. Whether it was training or laughing or drinking, Amari would do it wholeheartedly.

“He is.” Kaminaga admitted, “If he’s smiling like that all time, they look like an actual man and wife that I’m almost ready to give them my blessing.”

“Oh, won’t you find one too?”

“What, a wife?” He sneered. “I never thought something like this would come from you, Miyoshi, but why don’t just find one for yourself, then—though, I can’t actually imagine anyone would put up with you.”

“How rude, am I that unbearable?”

“For most people.”                                                                               

“You’re not most people, Kaminaga.”

The reply made him look at the other spy. Miyoshi’s eyes met his, but there was not even the slightest crack on his poker face. Neither on Kaminaga’s.

“You’re right,” he said, “I’m not most people.”

It was then like one of those times when they were discussing something, but got suddenly preoccupied with their own minds. There were only sealed lips and words that left unsaid while the music played on to the next; people kept on dancing, around the room, around their shadows, just like the world revolving. Kaminaga imagined the most likely predicament he’d be having if he hadn’t gotten into the agency. He’d probably still have the job he used to like—though it was never as challenging as being a spy—whilst soon turning thirty and his parents would kept urging him to find a bride. That father and mother too, would’ve probably been upset if they had known what kind of life their son would be living; a life that threw names away, buried his real identity, and trained him to be a heartless machine.

That’s what he thought, but he’d never know; Kaminaga hadn’t sent even a letter home for more than a year.

“But would it even be satisfying,” Kaminaga’s sentence came out a surprise, even to himself, “if our lives were just to marry, have children, then die after being good contributors to the society? I never get why people see it as the way things are supposed to be—like I never get why one must always find a spouse—but I think that if you live _only_ for those things, then it’s not worth the trouble.”

“It’s out of the question, with the way we are now,” Miyoshi shook his head slightly, twirling the liquid inside his glass, “you said it, Yuuki-san said it; the life of a spy means only dark solitude. Social and filial obligations have nothing to do with us, and we do not conform to others’ standard in regard of what is proper or satisfying. But in turn, we’ll be alone.”

When the man turned his head to Kaminaga, his foxlike eyes glinted under the hall light. “Then could we claim that our way of life is more satisfying? You answer it, Kaminaga.”

“We’ve always been alone anyway,” _and perhaps also lonely_ , but he would never say it outright, “so it won’t really make any difference.”

“Indeed,” Miyoshi’s eyebrow lifted a little; his gaze knowing, “if it did, you wouldn’t have volunteered to be a spy, would you?”

* * *

Kaminaga had never told anyone that he volunteered, and was convinced he was the only one who did until he grew closer to Miyoshi. Nobody, even perhaps including the other spies, would understand if he tried to explain why he did—yet this one particular man _knew_ , and saw him as clear as water in the pond. When did Miyoshi figure it out? Was it around the same time Kaminaga realized that the other man had also volunteered? Perhaps he wasn’t being all too delusional when he thought there was just _something_ , unnamed and unknown, between them; a feeling that was strange as well as unfamiliar, but exactly what he’d been longing for.

He knew he was falling deeper and it had to _stop_. But how could he? When he finally found something— _someone_ , who put meanings into the things he’d been doing and emotions in the smiles he’d been giving. For the briefest moment, Kaminaga knew that he wasn’t merely an automaton, and a thing that people called heart was still functioning somewhere inside him, beating to the tune that only the two of them was able to hear.

“Say, Miyoshi,” weighing the glass in his hand, Kaminaga said softly, “even if the life waiting for us is only darkness and loneliness, it wouldn’t be entirely impossible—don’t you think?—that somewhere, at one point, we came to love someone and ceased wanting to live in this solitude. It’s beyond our control, if someday our hearts are to belong to somebody else.”

The question hung in the air like thin mist after a morning rain. Kaminaga waited for an answer for so long that he felt the passing time had formed a clot inside his chest, and that he was meant to wonder forever for Miyoshi would not answer. But in between the waning music and the bows of the dancers, he found the other leaned in closer to him, holding his glass as though he was asking for a toast.

Kaminaga stared at him, perplexed.

“You’re right, it’s not entirely impossible.” Miyoshi’s smile was one of those which meaning he couldn’t yet to decipher. “Then to minimize the possibility, shall we throw this thing away before it really belongs to anybody?—That’s what we are trained for, after all,” the man said, with that alluring lilt Kaminaga had come to love so much, “ _cheers_ , Kaminaga.”

Their glasses met in a pleasant clink.


	8. one summer evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it just outrageously ironic, how the man who was closest to a machine out of them all, was the one who actually made Kaminaga felt human the most?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also not that relevant to the fic but I listened to _**[Snow in Summer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNzR8GAKQZ8)**_ the whole time while writing this chapter ;w; Hope chapter 8 is also enjoyable!

When Kaminaga entered the library, the elongated shadow of Miyoshi’s figure on the floor was the first thing that caught his attention. The spy was leaning against the window, arms folded, not turning his head even as Kaminaga approached him. He had neither the suit jacket nor the vest on, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to the elbows. An easel was placed nearby—a canvas was set on it, but from his position he couldn’t see whether the painting had finished.

Kaminaga took a look outside, the sky was tinged with a pleasant orange by the setting sun. From between telephone poles and cables spreading below he could see streetcars running and people walking by. It was late summer; some of the agency members had finally been sent out for missions, and all left for Kaminaga was to count the day he would depart for his own.

“You come to me with that thing again,” Miyoshi broke the silence, his stare had shifted to Kaminaga.

“Well, I need objects,” lifting the camera he was holding, Kaminaga’s eyes glanced back while his lips failed to hold back a slight smile, “ _beautiful_ objects.”

Miyoshi let out a hard exhale, one that was still too refined to be taken as a snort, one that he always gave when Kaminaga tried to praise or annoy him. But it wasn’t mere flattery this time; Kaminaga _did_ think Miyoshi was beautiful and the man sure knew he was. He then moved back to his painting and picked up the wooden palette left on the stool, adding red paint from a tube and mixing them with a practiced hand.

After each was given details for their undercover mission, it wasn’t strange to see everyone was familiarizing themselves with their new identity. Kaminaga had also been practicing using the camera in every chance he got, perfecting his image of Izawa Kazuo the photographer. He heard that Miyoshi would become an art dealer from an affluent family, coming to Europe for his interest in paintings. The man, after all, had always possessed the sort of elegance and posh attitude you’d expect from someone who was born rich; believing his cover was effortless.

“Have you gotten used to it?” Miyoshi asked, rather indifferent. Kaminaga had known him well enough to stop questioning whether man was showing actual concern or was just teasing. “That camera cost a lot of our budget, don’t mess up.”

“Pretty much, the handling itself is not difficult,” Kaminaga said, “but I want to practice some more, why don’t you model for me?”

“You can’t take photos from memory, after all,” Miyoshi mused, “but I’m afraid I’m quite busy.”

Kaminaga dragged a chair and placed himself a little to his behind, looking at the painting from the side. The red paint was for a field of spider lilies, bringing him the thought of what they had seen in Hanayashiki the year before. It was not yet the season for those flowers to bloom—and in that instant Kaminaga understood what Miyoshi meant—they couldn’t take photos of the lilies now, but they could paint them; one could always paint from memories. Marveling at the details the spy had put in, it was the first time Kaminaga saw him working with brush and canvas; the movements were so natural that he felt Miyoshi had already been familiar with paintings before, and wondered too if Yuuki had chosen him for this role because of his background, or if their spymaster was just trying to show a little sense of humor.

“These flowers kind of remind me of you,” Kaminaga said. He wasn’t thinking.

“Is that so?” That was all of Miyoshi’s response, but when Kaminaga didn’t say more, he asked, “Why?”

“I wonder.”

Each of them was lost in thought after, but it didn’t take long for Miyoshi to speak again. Kaminaga had noticed how the other turned a bit more talkative when he was in a good mood. “Do you remember what these flowers mean? We learned it in our botanical class.”

“That boring class,” Kaminaga said, “but I did like it when the teacher rambled on about their meanings in flower languages.”

Miyoshi chuckled. “What would flower languages be useful for? Do you use them when courting women?”

“Not anymore,” Kaminaga teased back, “the person I’m courting at the moment just happen to be disinterested in flowers and their meanings.”

“Who says I’m not interested?”

“Who says I was talking about you?”

Miyoshi didn’t answer, but from the side he could see the spy rolling his eyes. It was Kaminaga’s win this time. What a shame their bantering routine would come to a halt when both of them set out for each mission, once again becoming strangers.

“ _Lost memories_ ,” after giving a final touch to the painting, Miyoshi put down his brush and palette, “ _abandonment_ , _never to meet again_ —this flower’s beautiful, yet always get associated with painful things.”

“ _The other shore_ ,” Kaminaga added the literal meaning of the flower, “they said it guides the soul in the afterlife and brings back happy memories one last time, before they all disappear when the dead crosses the Sanzu River.*”

“’They said’—that’s as far as legends could go, but none of us really knows what happens after death, do we?”

“ _Us_ of the agency or _us_ in general?” Kaminaga stifled a laugh. “Because Sakuma-san seems to believe his comrades would be waiting in the afterlife.”

Kaminaga had wanted to see what sort of reaction he could get from Miyoshi at the mention of a certain liaison officer they had from the General Staff Headquarters, but he only said simply, “Sakuma-san was foolish.”

“Maybe he was, but if it was me who died first,” he said in a serious tone, “I’d definitely wait for you, Miyoshi.”

He turned to Kaminaga. His face showed no emotion. “Is this your idea of being romantic?”

“Not quite, but this is how I have fun,” Kaminaga grinned, “as a ghost I’d mess up with your light at night and in the morning I’d appear in the mirror to laugh at your bed hair.”

“This is exactly why I don’t want you to die.”

“How sweet.” There were specks of red paint on Miyoshi’s chin, and some smudged over his neck as well as the collar of his shirt. Kaminaga reached to wipe them with his thumb, but the remaining made his skin looked like it was smeared with blood. “But I won’t die—not yet—you’re the one who should be more careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Miyoshi usually hated it when someone told him what he had already known, but that one time he only gave Kaminaga a smirk, “though in the end, we all still die.”

“It’s frightening how you sound so eager.”

“I’m merely stating a fact.”

“Right,” he exhaled, “and here I could almost hear you say, ‘See you in another life’ or something.”

He liked the way Miyoshi’s eyes widened a little when his eyebrows were lifted. “You believe in reincarnation?”

“You don’t?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well,” Kaminaga leaned back on his chair, “can’t really say I do, not right now.”

Miyoshi rose from his seat. He took a piece of plain cloth from the table behind them, dipped it into the water in a bowl he had prepared, and started wiping the paint off his skin slowly. It didn’t clean his cheek and hands thoroughly, but at least the rag had done a better job than Kaminaga’s thumb. “If not right now, would you perhaps believe it later?”

“Depends.” His gaze flew to Miyoshi’s painting. “You?”

“I just don’t think it’d have much relevance. I mean, if such thing does happen, then what?” Kaminaga wasn’t seeing him, but he knew exactly where the other man was from the light sound of the bowl being moved and his steps growing louder. Then, sensing a presence behind him, Kaminaga looked up; Miyoshi was standing right behind him, with both hands rested on the back of his chair. “We’d be different people anyway, with no recollection of our past—what would this concept we call reincarnation be of any use then?”

The spy lowered his head, almost whispering to the sitting man’s ear. “Some say we’d be reborn to atone our sins, find the happiness we never had, or reunite with the people we lost. But anyone we’d become in our next lives, would have no connection to whom we are now—don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

He felt Miyoshi’s fingers brushed his shoulders for the briefest moment, before the man returned to the window side, once again leaning against the frame. “You talked a lot of nonsense lately.” His tone was sarcastic, but there was no venom in it. Perhaps it was only his mind playing trick, but Kaminaga could even catch a trace of something akin to fondness in the other’s voice.

“And you sound even more of a nihilist.”

“I am _not_ ,” Miyoshi laughed, only a small chuckle, but brimming with sincerity, “just because I think next lives would have no meaning if they even existed, doesn’t mean I also apply the same thought for the lives we’re currently living in.”

“Then what it means to you,” with an elbow on the arm of his chair, Kaminaga rested his chin on his palm, his suppressed laugh found its way to his sentence, “the lives we’re living now?”

It was meant to be half a joke, but unexpectedly he was met with Miyoshi’s poker face. The curve on his lips vanished and he could see the other spy’s upper body went stiff. Lifting his head, Kaminaga too stopped grinning. Be it with Miyoshi or the others, he had lost count of how many times their conversation went from idle to serious in a heartbeat, they could be laughing one moment and he wouldn’t know whether they were still joking in the next.

If only it was another occasion, with different people, in a different time, Kaminaga would perhaps cheerfully let his charisma take over and lighten up the mood. But not here, not this time; not when the only two people present were he and Miyoshi, not when Kaminaga could feel all the emotions he had tried to bury in the past year overflowed, like a burst of water from a shattered dam. Deep inside, Kaminaga _knew_ he just couldn’t, not yet, not ever—not as long as he was facing Miyoshi—going to be a complete automaton.

( _Ironic_ , he wanted to laugh; it’s outrageously ironic how the man who was closest to a machine out of them all, was the one who actually made him felt human the most.)

“Being who I am now,” said Miyoshi, his stare was fixed on Kaminaga. It was already an answer, yet his words fell oddly, like it was part of a sentence that couldn’t be finished. He started again, “If you ask me what it means, then that’s all there is to it; becoming a spy—”

 _—And meeting you_ , Kaminaga finished his sentence inwardly.

Being a spy was perhaps the whole meaning of their existence, but it was meeting each other that had made their lives meaningful. Fate worked in a strange way, it’s amusing how they needed to go all through that trouble of casting away their past, taking up new names and creating new identities just to find someone who finally able to made them whole, who fill all the tiny holes and fit in all of their awkward joints.

Even to the day the world’s end, Kaminaga knew Miyoshi would never allow himself to say it—that he’d fallen, that his heart hadn’t yet die entirely, that he too longed back—as he had made an automaton out of himself, and a machine simply did not feel.

But it was enough, the way they were now was enough. Kaminaga had let himself be selfish for too long, so even without words, the feelings they both shared was _enough_. After all, there would no longer be Kaminaga or Miyoshi once they stepped out of this peaceful little world, just like how they should’ve not existed from the beginning.

Kaminaga drew a long breath, holding air inside his lungs while he indulged in that strange tender feeling and acknowledged that he had, indeed, fallen. But then he had always gotten back up, hadn’t he? He could’ve fallen for Miyoshi again and again but he would always get back up again; exactly in the way Miyoshi at times would let the remains of his emotions got the better of him, before waking up again as an automaton— _alive and moving, but not feeling_.

Kaminaga rose, suddenly feeling elated as he listened to every sound of his steps. The sand inside their hourglass was running out, he’s aware, and therefore he intended to savor every shred of this dreamlike joy to the fullest. He’d laugh and he’d feel and he’d _love_ with every little fragment of humanity he had left, until there would be neither Kaminaga nor a spy, until this luxury was all used up and he would also wake up as a machine.

Resting his elbow on the window sill, Kaminaga spoke, “So, it turned out Tazaki was one of the firsts to be sent out, huh,” eyes went back to the camera sitting on the chair he had been just a moment before, a smile finally found its way again to his lips, “I’m actually kind of envy. I wonder why Yuuki-san chose him for this mission.”

“There you go again with Tazaki this and Tazaki that. You two are pretty close, aren’t you?” Miyoshi asked in that indifferent tone once more, though this time he didn’t completely hide his feelings and Kaminaga caught the hint.

“You see, if there’s anyone here who I’d call a best friend, then it’d be Tazaki.” He lifted an eyebrow. “What, you’re jealous?”

“Don’t get presumptuous.”

“But aren’t you quite friendly to Amari yourself?” Kaminaga purposefully made himself sound accusing. “And what about that Sakuma-san? You seem to be a little too fond of him for all I see.”

Miyoshi’s shoulders finally lose the stiffness they had before, and he smirked as he titled his head. “Aren’t you the one being jealous now?”

“So what if I am?”

* * *

The canvas was facing the other way, but Kaminaga’s trained eyes had engraved the painting into his memory, like a lens capturing scenery. It was in portrait, and the spider lilies stood with their heads held high, while the glowing sunlight showered onto their delicate petals resembled golden powder. Kaminaga adored the deep redness of it, as he imagined how every stroke was done carefully with the tip of the brush, how every shade was created with layers of paint and a skillful hand. Admiring every detail that had been poured into the painting, he raved silently about how it had been composed in such a way it radiated both artistic and surrealist feeling.

He wasn’t by no means an expert of paintings, and perhaps yes, Kaminaga was indeed presumptuous, but he felt there was a portion of Miyoshi and the person he had been before, threaded into those flowers. Kaminaga couldn’t yet make meanings out of it, and maybe he never would—but it was alright, he thought, because sometimes there were just things better left unknown.

Staring at Miyoshi, whose face exalted under the waning light, Kaminaga had wanted to say that his eyes were gleaming perfectly and he looked divine and any painting in the world would be pale in comparison to him. But pride as well as the realization that Miyoshi would laugh at him held his tongue, and when the other man stared back he said instead,

“You know, Tazaki might be a good friend, but I don’t see him that way.” Kaminaga let out that boyish chuckle he knew was just irresistible. His charm might not work on Miyoshi, but not that he cared anymore. “Besides, he has eyes on Amari from the start.”

“I figured,” Miyoshi said, interlocking their fingers as the sky outside grew darker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **Sanzu River** : River of Three Crossings, like the Buddhist equivalent of the River Styx, it is believed that the dead must cross this river on the way to the underworld.


	9. although not feeling like saying goodbye,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they parted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended to read while listening to [_**Ikanaide** (Don't Go)_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XY2juNBYrsE)—Idk anymore tbh, it's like every sad song makes me think of KamiMiyo _(:'3

It was supposed to be a farewell, but Kaminaga didn’t feel like saying goodbye. So he said instead, “Don’t die, Miyoshi.”

The man only smiled.

Kaminaga’s eyes scanned the room for one last time, before landing on a brown suitcase with his fake passport on top of it. Miyoshi, who was sitting with his legs crossed on the edge of his bed, picked up the forged document and rose, slipping it into the taller spy’s shirt pocket; his hand unnecessarily lingered for a bit too long. They stared at each other as Kaminaga put on his coat, but unlike before when both exchanged ideas without words, he couldn’t read anything this time. Perhaps because Miyoshi wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, or the emotions he didn’t show was just too complicated to convey from a mere look.

“Say that to yourself.” The tone was normal, like he was merely telling Kaminaga not to forget buying bread on the way home.

After that evening in the library, both of them were too absorbed in their own mission and didn’t get to talk as much. Miyoshi had somewhat turned more serious; it was the longest span of time Kaminaga didn't hear him complaining about his hair or anything, which in fact made the taller spy wary—was this somber and reserved Miyoshi the person he had been, before coming to the agency? Even though when they did talk, that cynical remarks and condescending smile of the Miyoshi he was familiar with still remained.

He had his goodbyes with the others, and Miyoshi was to be the last and unsurprisingly the hardest. Sure Kaminaga was excited for his own mission, but he allowed himself to cherish their last moment. No one knows what would happen and there’s always a chance they wouldn’t be meeting again, after all. His ship could just sink in the sea or he could be captured and executed by the enemy or the mission could last for decades or _anything_ , really. Kaminaga promised himself that he would only concentrate on his task later, so willfully, he indulged himself while he still could.

Footfalls echoed through the hall as they headed for the building entrance, making up for the silence left hanging. Miyoshi was so close at his side that the back of their hand sometimes brushed each other, but none of them actually locked the fingers together. When Kaminaga opened the front door and stepped outside, they were instantly basked in autumn sunlight; the day was almost too nice for a parting.

He turned back to face Miyoshi once last time, but it was almost like a daydream when the man walked past him. “I’ll see you off.”

When the two took the streetcar, it felt like they were just going for another outing and without realizing they’ve found themselves bantering, betting on whose mission would be more challenging. Miyoshi smiled at him, with that usual little crook on the lips; slightly mocking, partially concealing, but always endearing. Kaminaga thought of just how much he would miss that haughty face and immediately wanted to kiss those lips badly, stealing the strange sweetness as well as rich bitterness Miyoshi had always tasted like. Kaminaga wanted to hold him too, undone his tie and left marks on his neck, just to prove that, even only for a fleeting instant, he _had been_ there.

They got off at one or two stops before the port, but it’s like he could already catch the smell of the sea. There was a certain kind of pleasant suspense waiting for him on that other side of the globe, a test to see how successful his trainings were, a chance to demonstrate his abilities, a time to show the meaning of his existence! Even if it was only by being a ghost, manipulating from the shadows, unnamed and unknown, Kaminaga would definitely prove how capable he was. And it’s conflicting, how he wanted to go right away but also stay a bit longer at the same time. Miyoshi might sense Kaminaga's impatience as well as disinclination, as he only walked in his usual pace, neither too fast nor too slow, not hurrying but also not delaying.

Solitude, for them, was a given. They had been trained not to get attached to anybody. Kaminaga was aware this was his own choice from the start, and therefore determined not to go back. He knew also, that no matter what, Miyoshi too would never give up the life of a spy.

Yet Kaminaga still, oh yes _they_ still, cheated on that resolution— _just a little, just for a while_ , the two had thought, then perhaps it became a little _too much_.

It was a little strange, how he was drowned in the feeling of finding what had been missing, only to lose it again deliberately. It was strange, how he could actually just turn his back away from the agency right there and then, leaving all this spy nonsense but he chose not to. _Strange_ , how he accepted everything like it’s just the way it was and he knew nothing else. He wanted to discuss this with Miyoshi, but they must wait for another meeting. For the meantime, the fact that Miyoshi was still adamant about being a spy became a kind of assurance that he also saw things in the same way Kaminaga did.

(Or perhaps, they were actually much more different than what he had thought; perhaps, Miyoshi had already been an automaton from the very beginning, while Kaminaga was still replacing parts of himself to become a machine.)

When Kaminaga could almost see his destination, Miyoshi decided exactly at that moment to stop. They were right at the corner of the street, with the road at Kaminaga’s back and a red-bricked building behind the other man. They stood in silence for a while, eyes locking, frozen in a slice of time in which they felt like the universe was pausing. At that time Kaminaga had no way of knowing that it would be their last chance talking, and years after, that image of the man standing at the corner of the street became one of the silent movies that kept rewinding inside his head, while he thought, _was there anything, that he could’ve said that would change the future?_

(But regrets or what ifs were never needed, were they? Kaminaga had done what he should’ve done as a spy and that’s the only way it’s acceptable; automatons ought to do exactly what they had been programmed for, after all.)

Breaking the surreal stillness, Miyoshi adjusted the position of his hat, then casually slipping his hands into his pocket. “I suppose this is farewell.”

“I suppose it is.”

No one could predict how long each of their tasks would take either, and Kaminaga wanted to say so many things he never told the other before. His emotions and thoughts were so complex that in the end he didn’t manage to get a word out, but decided Miyoshi was the same, and the man would understand everything that he meant to convey. There was no need for words; that’s how they had always been anyway.

Looking straight to Kaminaga’s eyes, Miyoshi said, “I have never disliked you.”

That was the closest to a confession Kaminaga could’ve ever gotten, yet it wasn’t quite what he’d call happiness the words made him feel.

“I know.”

But he had never loved Kaminaga either, had he? _Not that much_ , at least he knew. Though perhaps Kaminaga did love Miyoshi _that much_ , against all selfishness, against all personal interests, to the point that he wouldn’t let his very own feelings become a hindrance to him being a spy, the thing that he knew Miyoshi loved more than anything.

It would be a lie if Kaminaga at that time, deep inside, hadn’t hoped for something—one last touch, one last kiss— _hell_ , he might even have wished for a miracle and Miyoshi would just change his mind, so he could once more doubt and waver and reconsider his own choices. Yet he knew it would never happen, not in a lifetime, for being a spy was the reason why Miyoshi's mechanical heart beat, why he had become who he was now. Emotions, sentiments, and the presumptuous Kaminaga might as well call it loveーall of those weren’t needed, as they were not the things that made an automaton work.

“But to be honest,” Kaminaga said, a grin suddenly wide on his face, “I might actually kind of hate you at first. There was this period of time when I really wanted to punch your pretty face.”

He saw Miyoshi raised an eyebrow, but those eyes lit with amusement. “I’m glad that now you don’t anymore.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“Then be sure to return so you can take your little grudge on me.”

“Absolutely.” Kaminaga smiled. Tipping his own hat a bit, he added, “And when both of us are home too, I’ll be looking forward for more, _private_ dance lessons.”

“Work on that messy timing of yours first,” the other spy smirked, “because next time, I’ll be examining you _thoroughly_.”

At the corner of that street, they turned their backs and parted.

In less than a week, Miyoshi would also start his mission as Maki Katsuhiko. They wouldn't be two spies from the same agency, but only two strangers on European soil who don’t possess any sort of connection to each other. Somehow Kaminaga’s mind drifted to the spider lilies Miyoshi had painted a couple of weeks before, and when his eyes blinked just a moment longer than they usually would he could see those flowers covering the ground of his reverie, bright red, as their slender petals curled up highly and haughtily, like claws in pitch-black solitude.

Heading toward his ship at the wharf, Kaminaga felt oddly calm. Anything that had been weighing on his mind earlier, vaporized along the sound of the seagulls in the sky, and the thing he had known as hesitation could no longer be found as his eyes gazed the horizon. Kaminaga thought this must’ve been how it felt to be an automaton; _not_ feeling anything.

When he finally got onboard, there no longer existed a man named Kaminaga. The only one standing there was, the photographer Izawa Kazuo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **red spider lily** : _higanbana_ in Japanese, it literally means "the other shore". In Japanese flower language, it means _abandonment_ , _lost memories_ , _never to meet again_. They said these flowers bloom along the path of departing lovers, someone you won't be meeting anymore or companions you'll never see again, you name it.
> 
> Last autumn, when walking in an area I've never been to before, I came across a cemetery by chance. Covering one of those graves, I saw these spider lilies, so bright and red they had me stopping and staring. At that time I hadn't known that they're often used in funerals... so yeah, just imagine me standing there thinking about those flowers' meaning and a bunch of angsty plot bunnies, telling myself that I gotta write at least a story from it ;w; I had been planning to use the flowers for another fanfic, but somehow they found their way into this one too, lol.
> 
> There's actually a missing scene between chapter 7 and 8, and it'll come out before the final chapter. Thank you for reading up until now!


	10. to the moon and beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t remember how it happened, who started, or how they ended up that way, but the one thing Kaminaga knew for sure was, there’s nothing as soft or felt as right as the touch of Miyoshi’s lips on his.
> 
> It was a game only the two of them were allowed to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the flashback, it actually takes place between chapter 7 and 8.

He didn’t remember how it happened, who started, or how they ended up that way, but the one thing Kaminaga knew for sure was, there’s nothing as soft or felt as right as the touch of Miyoshi’s lips on his. It was late winter, just when the plum blossom had started to bloom. Kaminaga recalled the deep pink of its petal, the silver moon in the night sky, the cold bite of wind behind the sliding paper doors, and then nothing else mattered when he felt the warmth of Miyoshi’s tongue.

Miyoshi tasted strangely sweet. Kaminaga had actually expected he would taste bitter, like all those cigarettes he kept puffing, but perhaps the _umeshu_ the two had been drinking since earlier was to blame, or it could’ve been the mood, or even only his illusion; Kaminaga didn’t know and he didn’t care. His mind and all his senses were inundated with Miyoshi—and how those sly fingers slipped onto his nape, how the slender yet strong legs straddled, how the spy’s seductive hum reverberated throughout Kaminaga’s body as he was gently pushed down.

Soon he found his hand unable to resist the temptation to run itself through the reddish brown locks, and in between their pantings he could hear Miyoshi warned half-jokingly, “Not the hair, Kaminaga, not the hair.” When he didn’t abide, the other spy bit his bottom lip, just a little, before sucking it roughly and he learned that Miyoshi liked to play it dangerously.

The excitement grew feverish, his head light, heat engulfed; Miyoshi’s hands traced down his sides, brushing over his fully clad abdomen and teasing over his belt. Kaminaga caught his hip, the swelling feeling inside his chest almost bursting when he reversed their position and the other didn’t resist. Lying on the tatami mats with lips red and glistening, Miyoshi gazed up to him with those foxlike eyes, intently like he was eyeing a prey. Kaminaga remembered how it gave a frenzy stir down to his groin, and that he just wanted to mess and ruin and savor every part that was hidden beneath. But Miyoshi’s hand was faster, and he pulled the other to trap their lips in another kiss, this time deeper and a little all over the place. Kaminaga had at one point ground their hips together, and he himself got unraveled when Miyoshi produced a low grunt.

For months he had suppressed the desire to taste Miyoshi’s skin. Contrary to what the others might assume, Kaminaga actually possessed quite a good self-control, and never let himself get carried away. But how could anyone resist thinking about that pretty white neck, always hidden and only bare to sight in those rare occasions at the bathhouse? Now, inside a private room at a _ryoutei_ that was only inhabited by the two of them, when Miyoshi let Kaminaga unbutton his collar and encouraged his lips to plant kisses on his neck, he knew he could lose it anytime.

“If you dare to leave a mark, Kaminaga—” Miyoshi’s sentence was cut when Kaminaga suddenly went up to graze his teeth over his earlobe. Inhaling sharply, and as if as a sign that he knew Kaminaga probably wouldn’t listen, Miyoshi in turn slipped his knee in between the other’s legs, quickly and lightly, yet knocking every breath out of his chest.

“ _Miyoshi_.” Kaminaga drawled, pressing another kiss before continuing, “You sure realize that if you go beyond that,” another one, “you and me”— _and_ another one, because he just _couldn’t_ stop, then in almost a whisper to the other’s skin—“might not be able to go back, to how we were before.”

“I know.” The spy stared at him, the lust burning in his eyes made up for the lack of emotion in his voice. “Do you mind?”

* * *

“Now what?”

“What?” Miyoshi reiterated, pushing a cigarette between his lips. “Hand me that lighter, will you?”

The room wasn’t large but it’s sufficient, as the only thing they cared about was how it was the closest hotel to the restaurant they had dined earlier. Kaminaga couldn’t care less about that boring wallpaper or the interior in general, since his attention had only been revolving around Miyoshi the minute they got in. Only the nightstand lamp was on and the curtains of the small window on the side were open, illuminating Miyoshi’s face in a unique blend of yellowish artificial glow and silver moonlight. Kaminaga picked up the lighter from the bedside table, then lit the cigarette as well. “We’re certainly not going any further than this… or are we?”

Making himself comfortable in Kaminaga’s arm, the other man took the first drag of his cigarette. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, we could, you know,” Kaminaga couldn’t help letting out a small laugh, “ _run away_. Far, just the two of us together, to a place where this war won’t reach.”

It wasn’t a real question. Kaminaga had already known the answer.

And just as expected, Miyoshi chuckled, he grinned too; both had a terrible sense of humor. There was not a least bit of disappointment.

The only thing remained inside his ribs was this hollow feeling that had always been there from the start; a dark, empty space he’d been trying to fill with Miyoshi’s presence, even though their togetherness wouldn’t last, even though Kaminaga knew they could always try to complete each other but at one point it would never be _enough_.

Kaminaga wasn’t disappointed, for he figured that none of them would actually do it—running away, disappearing, becoming normal civilians—their love for being a spy was greater, after all.

“Miyoshi.”

“Yes?”

“You volunteered too, didn’t you?” Kaminaga had been meaning to ask him for quite some time, but only now he had actually found the time. “To the agency.”

At first, Miyoshi didn’t answer. His eyes climbed to the ceiling but Kaminaga knew his mind was somewhere beyond, higher than the roof, higher than the moon. Nothing made him more curious than the stories of Miyoshi’s past, and the reason why he could end up choosing to be a spy. But maybe, just maybe, there were some things in the world he better not knowing; perhaps the mystery was part of the charm, indeed. Kaminaga wouldn’t press for an answer this time, but he was willing to wait.

After taking another long drag, the other spy finally said, “I don’t like lying to you.”

It wasn’t a forthright answer, but he was satisfied. Even though Kaminaga had figured out, he was stubborn enough to keep striving for a confirmation. He wasn’t wrong when he thought they had something in common from the beginning, some kind of connection that linked them as individuals. Kaminaga might not have a competitor, but somehow it felt victorious, like a certain kind of pride knowing that he was indeed, the only one who was _special_ to Miyoshi and vice versa.

And yet, there was nothing he could do to it. Even if they did love each other that much, Kaminaga was mindful of the path they had taken. Even if he admitted that never in life he felt something so profound for somebody and that Miyoshi was the only person who had ever made him felt this way, Kaminaga might still not give up being a spy.

Anyone who sang the praises of undying love in this day and age belonged to the first rank of hypocrites, he recalled a line from a book he read, and Kaminaga agreed. He did not believe in things such as pure and devoted love. He knew enough that whatever kind of relationship they were in now could alter anytime; and affection, for people like them, would most likely be no more than something fleeting, blooming for a brief moment before coming off, or buried deep inside their head—eternal but dead.

Whichever it would be, Kaminaga had no way of knowing at that time, but never even once, he regretted ever choosing to be a spy and meeting Miyoshi. Monsters, automatons, whatever they were called—it didn’t hold different meanings to him. The point was that all of them possessed no hearts, did they? And as absurd as it was laughable, he wondered why a creature such as he could try so hard to love. To whom was it anyway, that Kaminaga needed to prove that he was _still_ human?

He looked at the man in his arm, observing every part of his ruffled hair, the outline of his jaw, his clavicle, his bare chest, down to his abdomen before the rest disappeared under the covers; even in a mess, Miyoshi looked stunning. Etching each picture into his mind, collecting pieces of what would be his montage of memories, Kaminaga tried to make sense of his own feelings. When he failed to explain emotions with logic, he resorted to nuzzle against the side of Miyoshi’s head. “Hey, give me some.”

“This?” Miyoshi removed the cigarette from his lips, turning his head to look at him. Before the man could move any further, Kaminaga quickly stole a peck from his lips. “ _That_.”

It caught the other man off guard.

There was a brief pause, a short interval in which Kaminaga had already been tempted to kiss him again, but then Miyoshi’s laugh tore off the silence. It was a sweet, gleeful chortle, one that made his shoulders shook lightly and his eyes turned into a pair of crescent moons. It was one of the expressions Kaminaga couldn’t imagine Miyoshi having, and the thought of him as the one who caused it, as well as being the only person who got to see it filled his chest with something warm and tender, and for the rest of the night he forgot that automatons weren’t supposed to have hearts.

“You’re surprisingly adorable, aren’t you?” There was a trace of mockery in his voice, but his eyes gazed in the way it was so soft that Kaminaga almost couldn’t believe he was talking to the infamous Miyoshi. He wouldn’t mind at all relishing each other right there and then, but beating around the bush with him like this was always fun.

“What? I’m always this endearing.” Kaminaga shifted a little so that both of his arms could now embrace Miyoshi’s waist. The spy faked disgust on his countenance, but couldn’t help smiling when the taller showered him with more kisses, on the side of his chin, on the corner of his lips, on the arch of his eyebrows.

“Oh, won’t ‘annoying’ be a more appropriate word,” Miyoshi’s thumb drew a small circle on the inner of Kaminaga’s upper arm, a simple gesture that sparked a burning sensation, “or perhaps you prefer ‘clingy’?”

“Harsh.” Kaminaga moved a hand downward, caressing Miyoshi’s naked thigh. “But you like being bothered by me, admit it.”

“Maybe a little.” He blew the last smoke to the side, before putting off his cigarette into the ashtray. With no more pretense, he rightfully claimed Kaminaga’s lips in a pleasant kiss, slowly and almost sheepishly, until he tug on Miyoshi’s hair and let out a soft moan. Their breath was hot against each other, Miyoshi gave him one or two more pecks before creating distance, licking his own swollen lips. Kaminaga had never told him how every detail of that night—and any other night they spent together—was ingrained into his mind to days and seasons and years after.

(And Kaminaga in the future couldn’t tell him, even if he _did_ want to, how the recording that was his memory eternalized their moments in frozen frames, forever keeping Miyoshi alive, in a gallery of the little perfect world that he had abandoned.)

Soon it turned frantic; laughs and groans fused while breaths broken. At that point Kaminaga had already known every single inch of Miyoshi’s body and the other did too, but the mysteries that were left always drew them to each other, and Kaminaga loved to find out as much as Miyoshi tried to figure out about him. It’s a game only the two of them were allowed to play.

Miyoshi was on top of him again and Kaminaga remembered squeezing his bottom, then he felt the other’s hands and lips were in places they weren’t supposed to be yet he wouldn’t want them anywhere else. He was banned from leaving marks earlier but he swore he’s getting bruises from Miyoshi, _that selfish bastard_ ; just watch and Kaminaga would have him under his mercy, in disarray and lewd, moaning and begging while slowly falling apart—

“Well then, Kaminaga,” Miyoshi’s voice was sultry, instantly making Kaminaga felt like he had sinned though he wasn’t by any means religious, and before he could reply with something clever he found those skilled hands had crept onto his wrists, “shall I now take my turn to bother you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **umeshu** : A traditional Japanese liqueur made from _ume_ (Japanese apricot) fruit. It tastes really sweet.
> 
> * **ryoutei** : A type of high-class, traditional Japanese restaurant.
> 
> * _Anyone who sang the praises of undying love in this day and age belonged to the first rank of hypocrites_. (A quote from Natsume Soseki's novel, **And Then** )
> 
> And if anyone is wondering what’s with the title and the moon references, it was actually just another thing that got itself into the story—randomly, at first, but then it hit me how Kaminaga and Miyoshi were like the moon to each other—with a light that is almost like an illusion, so beautiful yet unattainable, it’s a thing one desire the most but could never own sdafahsjklI'msorry
> 
> Anyway, next one is the final chapter hhhhhhh I can’t believe I’ll be completing a multichapter this fast—and in English, on top of that isthisthepowerofKamiMiyo;;;;;—thank you for everyone who’s been reading up until now! <3


	11. spies were not machines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> —yet the part Kaminaga was missing had always been in the shape of Miyoshi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first idea of this fic was only that of chapter 7, but then when I was brainstorming, **[The Wretched Automatons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYqb-ht2gyY)** I had in my writing playlist played and somehow the story turned into what it is now lol. The original idea came to me last July—yes, almost a year ago—but I didn't think I could write KamiMiyo/MiyoKami good enough that I let it sit in my laptop for such a long time. Ended up writing it anyway tho, glad that I did and happy if you like it too. Here's the final chapter!

At one time in the agency when he started to wonder why hadn’t he heard any news about Miyoshi, Kaminaga somehow managed to get his hands on the report of Maki Katsuhiko’s mission in Germany.

Included inside the files, was a short obituary; died of blood loss in a train accident, it was written, on the way back from Berlin after reporting to the spymaster. His work was impeccable, as expected from Miyoshi, but that was all there was to it.

_Such was the end of his short life._

At that time too, Kaminaga was unable to feel anything—or he _did_ but he _didn’t_ care. To him the Miyoshi in the report was almost unreal, like he was just reading a newspaper and it was a death of someone far, far away, a movie star Kaminaga had seen only through films or an author he knew merely from their writings. Kaminaga thought he should’ve been grieving, but he didn’t know why.

After the war, he still worked under Yuuki for a few more years, while most of the other spies had resigned earlier. Kaminaga wouldn’t try to remember what exactly they had done during all the chaos, but it was all they could. By the time he decided that it was his turn to retire, the only ones who were left were Hatano and Jitsui, who had disappeared for a couple of years before finally returning to the agency. Kaminaga then found himself liking photography more than he thought he would, and opened a photo studio in the city—a real one this time, unlike the one he had in London.

There was even a period of time when he almost forgot he ever loved someone named Miyoshi. Many things happened and Kaminaga figured he wouldn’t have another chance to enjoy being alive. So he traveled and took pictures and let his feet walk down rivers and trek around foothills, leaving traces in red spider lily fields and camping under the moon. It felt like returning to his adolescent days, when he would get excited over anything, yet always with that familiar feeling of missing something important, gnawing at him in silence.

Not long after, he started to reach back to the men who had once been his colleagues. Contacting them once more, introducing themselves once more—since most of them had already used another name—trying to know each other, _properly_ , once more. From these renewed friendships he learned that Amari adopted a daughter (whom Kaminaga thought was snatched away from his mother or something of the like, though later he found out that the real story was not as exciting). The two lived close to Tazaki, who had also disappeared for a few years after he retired as a spy, until somehow, returned to Tokyo and taught in the university. Fukumoto opened a restaurant and a bar, which wasn’t a surprise at all. The ones who were left often hung around at his place over the weekend. (Once, they tried to play the Joker Game, but then gave up on it and switched to ordinary poker; there were simply too few people to ally with.)

Kaminaga didn’t hear about Odagiri, or if the man survived the war; maybe he was still out there somewhere, maybe he was not. As for Hatano and Jitsui, the day he left the agency was the last time Kaminaga saw them. Though sometimes, he thought he caught glimpses of the two spies or Yuuki in the crowds, throwing hidden glances in his direction. But it might as well had been Kaminaga’s imagination only, and they never got close enough to speak. To him, the people who stayed in the shadows simply became strangers again.

For years, he wished the fragments of Kaminaga the spy would never come around—and that was what he almost believed. But at nights when his dreams were in distortion and malaise, and the walls melted and spun as if he was in another trial of a truth serum, Kaminaga knew he couldn’t run as he saw red spider lilies at the corners of the room, dripping from the ceiling like blood, growing from under the floor like fingers creeping in the dark. At other nights when he drank too much—unlike in the past when he always knew when to stop—and his world glowed in blinding lights and spurious joy, Kaminaga wondered if he would ever see those foxlike eyes again, meeting his gaze from across the bar, walking up to him, sitting beside him, and smiling and bantering and bumping their knees together.

Among the stream of people and the seasons that never stopped passing, Kaminaga came to know what a true solitude was like. He might no longer be the despised spy and had gained back a respectable role in the society, but he never felt that he ever really returned. The Kaminaga who was not a spy was just like a hollow casing, just another model of automaton functioned as a human. Sometimes when the moon above his head were so beautiful, he almost hoped for the turmoil in his heart would also leap to his head, so that perhaps under the glimmering silver and haunting silhouettes, Kaminaga could have Miyoshi again, talking to him with that annoying curve on his lips.

But Miyoshi simply never came back, and Kaminaga was far too sensible to lose his mind. No matter how loud he screamed or laughed, there was only one truth; the dead would not return.

Was letting Miyoshi go at that time was a mistake? Could he say that when the spy was never his in the first place? Could he _even_ say that, if the spy’s death was something outside of anyone’s control? He did try to find someone else, one who would complement him and make him complete, as if to prove that he could get over. But the part he was missing had always been in the shape of Miyoshi, and soon Kaminaga realized that his existence would never be whole again.

The human mind is a funny thing. He used to take pride in how good his memory was, but now the inability to forget was more of a curse. The pink petals on Miyoshi’s hair when all of them went out for a flower viewing, the sardonic smile on his lips, the way their hands latched onto each other in dance classes, the glances they exchange, the silence they shared at the fourth floor library, their unsaid words, their joined breath, their little perfect world; Kaminaga’s memories were the thing that kept Miyoshi alive.

Calendars were torn and numbers were added to his age. Kaminaga wasn’t sure if he became wiser, but perhaps he became more of a melancholic. The more he tried to forget about himself, the more his awareness of the surroundings grew. He would notice every little thing like the faint golden touch of a setting sun, the little dances of falling autumn leaves, the slightest smell of old papers in his bookshelves and he thought, what would all that beauty be of any use if he got nobody to share it with? Miyoshi would snicker at him now, that’s for sure, then the dead spy would laugh until his eyes filled with tears and he toppled over his gravestone. And Kaminaga would laugh with him, because he had indeed become a pathetic man.

During those moments Kaminaga liked asking nobody, _how is it at the other shore?_ Did the dead really have to cross the Sanzu River? Would they find heaven or hell?

( _Will we meet again in another life?_ )

The current Miyoshi might have all the answer—or might be not, but Kaminaga wouldn’t know until he caught up to the other side himself. It might still be long before he would, but who knew? Kaminaga could always spill his coffee one morning, slipped, lost balance and bumped his head onto something; died a ridiculous death right there and then. Good. They could laugh at it together in the afterlife and he would tell Miyoshi, _It’s even far more ridiculous then your train accident_. And only by then, perhaps, the two of them would finally know if reincarnation, be it real or not, had any meaning.

Now all Kaminaga could do was to _live_ , for they were indeed just like puppets on a stage—and he would not sleep until the performance was over.

* * *

_But if it was indeed true, and he could be born again, Kaminaga would do anything if it meant meeting Miyoshi once more; even if they wouldn’t remember, even if they wouldn’t recognize each other._

_As long as he had the chance to try again—as a human, this time, for a lifetime as an automaton was already more than enough—Kaminaga would certainly not miss it;_ like hell he would _._

* * *

“Tell me,” in a world in which Miyoshi still existed, Kaminaga had once asked, “Is this enough for you?”

He didn’t remember when exactly, but the room was dark and their skin was still bare and his mind hadn’t recovered fully from the sweet dizziness it had been swallowed in earlier. Miyoshi, with his head still placed under Kaminaga’s chin, snuggled a little, breathing a quiet laugh to his neck. “That’s quite ambiguous, Kaminaga, considering the state we’re currently in, but I’d say it depends.”

“Right,” he chuckled too, realizing it might not be the most appropriate time to ask, with their legs still tangled under the cover and it’s sticky and gross somewhere, while Miyoshi had been meaning to take a shower but Kaminaga wouldn’t let him out of the bed, “is living just like this, I mean—being a spy, a nobody, enough for you?”

“Out of all times,” Miyoshi paused for a dramatic sigh, “you just had to choose to bring that up _now_?”

“Can’t be helped,” he smiled, “I’m still curious.”

“For someone who only thinks with his crotch, you unexpectedly like to muse about these things, don’t you?”

Kaminaga didn’t answer, and simply made Miyoshi’s hair more of a mess with his hand—genuinely annoyed, he was—until the other man had to kiss him on the mouth before he finally let go. A mocking amusement was evident on Miyoshi’s face, and he looked like about to say something for a moment but then thought better of it, giving him a smile instead. Under the dim light, Miyoshi’s eyes were lush in the color of baked clay; Kaminaga who never got tired of staring at them, like a technician trying to figure out how the machine in front of him worked.

“I can’t really say if living like this truly worth it; individual ideal differs, after all,” Miyoshi then said, “but I’m sure you already know what my answer is—or at least you will—and since it’s you, I don’t think I have to explain myself why.”

Kaminaga let the silence interrupted, leaving the sound of their breath the only thing heard in the room. He indeed had known the answer to most of the questions by now. While saying he was curious, Kaminaga was in truth just wanted to confirm that he was right, so that he’d able to scrape every little piece of crushed hope off his heart, so that he would stop thinking there could still be the slightest chance of miracle—of Miyoshi changing his mind and they could doubt all their life choices together again. Kaminaga was just still _trying_ , while knowing that he would never completely succeed as long as the spy was still with him.

“Well then,” he finally said, feeling the lump in his throat alleviated, like a bittersweet acceptance of defeat, “I think I actually got what you mean, in a way.”

“Good.”

“Some things are still bothering me though, but I’ll figure it out.”

Miyoshi didn’t miss a beat. “Kaminaga.”

“Yeah?”

Even years and decades after, Kaminaga was still able to recall every tiny detail of that night; the creak of the bed when they moved, the chilly spring wind coming in from the window, the random stain on the ceiling when both of them lay next to each other and looked up. To him the trivialness was the thing that made that world real, and it stayed with him like a beautiful scar. In the future, at times when he felt like his efforts were in vain and his strength was waning, Kaminaga would close his eyes and bring back the sort of expression Miyoshi had, the perennial smile on his thin lips, and the determination in his voice when the spy said to him,

“A spy like you and me should be free of all hesitations.”

_—And Kaminaga was, just like the automatons that they were._

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like stories that kinda left unresolved; like we don't really know where it begins or where it ends; so I chose to end it in a flashback, just like Kaminaga who keeps reminiscing a world in which Miyoshi still existed, and questions whether he had done the right thing. I'm not sure if they stayed in character all the time or if the overall plot was always in the right track, but regardless, writing Automaton was very enjoyable—tbh I haven't really gotten this much fun writing something for the past two years, but this fandom slowly helps me rediscovering the joy of writing aahhh ;;w;; Thank you so much for all of you who have read my work, I'm really grateful for every kudos and comment, they always made my day. See you again! ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ
> 
>  
> 
> _p. s. feel free to ramble with me on[twitter](https://twitter.com/allitheia), i'm a noisy account but would love to talk kamimiyo (or anything, really www) with you! (≧◡≦)_


End file.
